


Broken Promises

by DruidX



Series: The Genderless!HoK (TES IV: Oblivion) [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Disassociation, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Non-Sexual Slavery, Parental Modryn Oreyn, Self-Hatred, Torture, magical bindings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DruidX/pseuds/DruidX
Summary: Modryn Oreyn has been kidnapped by the remnants of the Blackwood Company. A ransom note is sent to the genderless!HoK/CC, and they set out to rescue their friend and Second-in-Command. All does not go smoothly. (Set somewhen after one has “finished” TES IV: Oblivion and the HoK/CC runs every main guild in Cyrodiil.)
Relationships: Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil & Modryn Oreyn
Series: The Genderless!HoK (TES IV: Oblivion) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901968
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough TESFics about Modryn Oreyn (or many other "minor" characters, but that’s another project for another day), so in the vein of "this character needs more love; I'd better write it myself", I went ahead and did so.  
> Born from these prompts: [X](https://write-it-motherfuckers.tumblr.com/post/620135288067473408/person-a-why-the-hell-would-you-let-them-do-all), [X](https://whumpster-dumpster.tumblr.com/post/621052095890636800/whumpee-is-impaled-by-a-projectile-weapon-spear), [X](https://whump-my-darling.tumblr.com/post/623655530642259968/prompt-12).

I sat in the quiet of the University's council chambers, reading through a report prepared by one of the magisters about the potential of an Ayleid ruin close to Cheydinhal. They wanted money for an expedition, of course, and had outlined a reasonably decent budget. Included in the said budget was a Fighter's Guild fee, for mercenary protection. I rubbed at my forehead, wishing I'd taken my pile of paperwork to the Mystic Archives to work on. This Chamber was always so dark and stuffy, not to mention claustrophobic with the huge table taking up the majority of the room. 

I turned my attention back to the report. I'd need to pass this on to Burz gro-Khash for him to find members willing to hang around a bunch of researchers. Sometimes it was useful running most of the major guilds in Cyrodiil. Other times it was a pain in the neck.

I'd thought that life would slow down after the Oblivion Crisis ended. If anything I was busier than before. Between the piles of paperwork that had stacked up at the University and the Fighter's Guild headquarters in Chorrol, performing my duties as Listener, and the weekly matches I had scheduled at the Arena, I hardly had time to keep my alchemy shop going, not to mention the monthly trips to the door in Niben Bay... I sighed. At least the Thieves guild and Priory of the Nine ran themselves. 

I closed my eyes for a moment, head resting in my palm as I leant against the table, dreaming of those far-back days when I'd been free to roam across the West Weald as I pleased, collecting alchemical samples under the warm cerulean sky. Oh the bliss of a soft perfumed breeze, the wheeling songbirds-

"Arch-Mage?"  
I sighed and opened my eyes.   
"Raminus," I said smiling at the brown-haired Imperial. "What can I help you with, my friend?"  
"This just came for you, Arch-mage," he said, handing me a slip of paper. I frowned. It was a grubby slip of paper, unsealed by wax, and only 'Champion of Cyrodiil' written on the front.  
"How by?" I asked.  
"Someone from the Black Horse Courrier dropped it in," Raminus told me. "Said they were asked to bring one to every city. Someone really wants to get hold of you."  
"Indeed," I said. "It must be urgent then... Thank you, Raminus."  
He nodded his acceptance, turning to straighten some item or other, while I unfolded the letter.

_ 'Champion', _ (it read, the handwriting scratchy, the ink dark red)  
_ We have Modryn Oreyn. If you want him back alive, you'll come alone to Broken Promises Cave as soon as you receive this letter. Do not dally! We  _ _ will _ _ kill him if you do not show your face within a week of the above date.  
_ _ \- The Blackwood Company _

I hissed, jerking back on my seat. The Blackwood company still lived? No, no, it couldn't be... And they'd taken Oreyn. Spots danced in my vision. My bittersweet Lieutenant was in danger and I had to save him.  
"What? What's wrong?" Raminus asked, looking up at me in surprise.  
"I- Oh Gods. I have to go." I stood up too fast, tipping the stool backwards.   
"Arch-Mage?"   
"I'm sorry Raminus, I- I have other business that needs my urgent attention."  
"But Arch-Mage..." Raminus gestured to the piles of paperwork yet to be done. "Some of these have been waiting for your approval for months."  
I squeezed my eyes closed, clenching my fists in an attempt to get myself under control.  
"I am truly sorry," I told him. "This is a matter of life and death. One of my subordinates in another guild is in danger." I walked over to him, clasping his shoulders. "Please understand. I would do the same if it were you in need of help."  
His eyes flickered over my face, then he nodded. "Of course, Arch-Mage." He reached up and squeezed my hand, a worried furrow across his brow. "Please take care."  
"Thank you," I said, bowing my head in relief. I backed away and pointed at the piles of papers.  
"That one is all approved and signed," I told him, pulling on my pack. "That one has items still to be considered, and that one," I pointed at the largest, "is still to do. I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise."  
"With everything still intact," Raminus added.  
I nodded. "With everything still intact. I promise."  
He nodded. "Gods' speed."

~*~*~

Halfway along the bridge to the Imperial City Isle, my brain caught up with me, and I slowed my headlong flight to certain doom.  
I was behaving like a rookie, panicking and playing right into the kidnappers' hands. This wasn't smart, and I should know better. What I needed was a plan. Some contingencies wouldn't go amiss either. Modryn would never forgive me if I got us both killed without at least warning the other chapter heads. I stopped and pulled out the note, checking the date. I had four days. More than enough time to gather what I needed and ride to Anvil, then 'show my face' and, I hoped, save the day once more.

I started walking again, slipping through the Temple district backstreets to avoid the Temple of the One, and into the Waterfront. Once there I headed directly to my cosy shack, finding out parchment and ink to scrawl a quick message to Burz gro-Khash at the Cheydinhal chapter. I kept it cryptic:

_ Yr attendance req. at Anvil. V urgent! Come at once.  
\- yr Guild Master _

I didn't want to risk mentioning the problem in case the missive was intercepted. Who knew what disaster  _ that _ might bring... My note written, I took a moment to water my flowers. The action was calming, allowing my mind to drift to different possibilities. I scribbled a few more notes, and left the shack, donning the Cowl of the Grey Fox as I approached Dareloth's house. I left the extra notes, and some coin, with Armand. The Redguard knew better than to question the strange requests of the Fox, and choosing members for covert letter-delivering couldn't be as strange as some things Corvus had tasked him with in the past.

That done, I ran the message for Burz across to the Black Horse Courier office, handing it off to Ra'jiradh with a sizable amount of gold and the request it left with all haste. The Khajiit assured me, for the sum I'd left, that he would get one of his brothers to deliver it personally. I thanked him, my spirits lifting already, and hurred onto my next task: retrieving adequate protection. 

I knew the kidnappers would want to take all my items the moment they had me, and I didn't intend for my precious weapons or armour to fall into their hands. No, I had to look as harmless as possible. Which meant I had to travel to Battlehorn Castle, on the outskirts of Chorrol, and get the robes of Turning.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Azzan," I greeted the Redguard as I walked into the Anvil Chapter house.  
"Hey Boss," he called back, lowering his great axe from where he'd been practising against a training dummy. "Who's your friend?" he added, nodding to the Redguard who followed me in.  
"This is Maelona," I said.   
"Hi," she said, raising a hand. I gestured between them. "Maelona, this is Azzan, Fighter's guild trainer. Az,' tell me Burz got here already?"  
"Yeah. The big lout's in the dining hall, polishing off a dozen sweet rolls. He's kinda pissed at you, you know?"  
"I'm sure he is," I said. I walked over to the counter, throwing Azzan his shirt. "And I'm sure you're not too happy at me, either. Put that on, we've got things to discuss."  
He pulled the shirt over his head as I stalked towards the stairs up.  
"You wanna tell me what's going on, Boss?" he asked, following on, looking between me and Maelona.  
"Once we're in your office, sure," I retorted, and started up the stairs.

  
"Burz, you ugly son of a dretch," I greeted the orc as we came into the dining hall. It was late evening and some of the other guild members taking dinner looked up, startled.  
"There you are, meat," Burz growled out, standing. "Good of you to finally join us!" He came out from behind the table. We clasped forearms, and he pulled me into a great hug, a huge smile on his face. "Nice to see you didn't get crushed by that Dagon fellow," he said, letting me out of the embrace. "Though it might have improved your looks some."  
I gave him a friendly punch on the arm. "And wind up with a mashed potato face like you? No thanks." The big orc roared with laughter, causing some of our newer members to flinch in fear.  
"Hey Boss, have you eaten?" Azzan asked, already piling cheese and bread on a plate. I hadn't, but the worry gnawing at my guts had robbed me of any appetite. I started to shake my head, but my stomach had other ideas, letting out a ferocious growl.  
Maelona raised an eyebrow at me, then turned to the table.  
"Here, let me help you with that," she said to Azzan, grabbing another plate and piling it with food. "I haven't eaten yet either, and I haven't just ridden in from Gods-knows-where." She glanced back at me with a pointed look. "Got dragged over by this one just before dinner."  
"So what's this about, Boss?" Burz asked. "I get hauled down here without so much as a by-your-leave, some punk-ass Khajiit telling me I'd been summoned to this urgent meeting."  
I shook my head. "Upstairs. I'll explain everything once we're behind closed doors." I turned and walked towards the stairs that lead up to Azzan's office. I paused halfway up, looking back at the two chapter heads as they shared worried glances with Maelona and each other, the weight of my statement settling over the previous mirth like a fire blanket.

  
I paced as I waited for them in Azzan's office. Part of the reason I'd chosen to have our meeting here and not one of the other chapter houses was his office. My office in Chorrol was open to anyone overhearing our conversation, and Burz didn't have one at all, doing his paperwork on the Cheydihal chapter's dinner table. I didn't want our guildmates to worry, I wanted to have this conversation in privacy. Plus, Maelona was good people, and I trusted her to be my independent third on this.  
Soon enough they all entered. Azzan slipped behind his desk, while Burz and Mealona sat on the bench beside it. A plate was shoved into my hands.  
"Eat," Burz said, his expression one of fierce protectiveness. I looked down, wondering if I could just put it on Azzan's desk and conveniently forget it, but they'd already sliced soft cheese onto the bread, already cut the apple into wedges. Easy finger food. Burz's glare deepened. I picked up an apple wedge, biting into it with spite. He nodded, settling back.  
"Maelona," I said. "You've met Azzan already, but this," I waved at the orc, "is Burz gro-Khash. He heads up the Fighter's chapter house in Cheydinhal. Gentlemen, this is Maelona of the Anvil City Watch. She and I worked together on an undercover op earlier this year."  
"If this is Fighter's Guild business, then what's she doing here," Burz asked.  
"Because she's a trusted neutral third party," I said, and took another bite of the apple, chewing to give myself thinking time. "She's here to witness what's said here today."  
Azzan sat back. "You're starting to worry me now, Boss," he said. "Does this have something to do with the lack of cantankerous Dunmer in the room?"  
I looked at the floor. "Yes." I slid the plate into the desk, and from my pocket fished out two notes, both grubby and stained. I'd called into Benirus Manor before I'd picked up Maelona. The same note had been sitting there, on the mat, waiting for me.  
"Modryn Oreyn has been kidnapped," I told them. I handed one note to Azzan, the other to Burz, Maelona peering over the orc's shoulder, and started pacing. "I received that note yesterday, at the University. There was another waiting for me at the Manor. These people did everything in their power to make sure that reached me."  
"Is this some kind of joke?" Maelona asked, looking up at me. "From what I've heard Oreyn is one of your best fighters."  
"I wish it was. No idea how he managed to get snatched – I can only assume poisons were involved."  
"Because you'd know about that, wouldn't you boss?" Burz muttered.  
I ignored him, and continued, "I called into Chorrol on my way here, just to double-check. The porter said Modryn went out for a walk in the forest a few days back and hadn't been seen in the chapter house since. I told the porter not to worry, then checked Modryn's house too. The door was locked, and there was milk on its way to becoming cheese, so he hadn't been home either."  
"But, you guys got rid of the Blackwood company?" Maelona persisted. "Right?"  
"Seems we missed a few, eh, Boss?" Azzan said.  
"Aye. It does," I agreed. "I killed everyone in that building, burned their damned Hist tree. But they musta had some folk out on jobs." My fists clenched reflexively, remembering that fight, the anger at what they'd had me do.  
"So why'd you come here, and bring gro-Khash all the way with you?" Maelona asked, shaking her head. "Doesn't make sense."  
"Because she's planning on following their order," Azzan said, his arms folded, watching me intently, disapproval clear on his face.  
"Boss," Burz said, alarmed, "you gotta know it's a trap?"  
"Of course it's a trap!" I slammed my hands down on Azzan's desk. "But what'm I s'posed to do, just leave him there to die?" I turned on my heel, stalking away a few steps, and back again. "After everything he's done for us, for me, for the guild. I will not abandon him! Yes, he's a cantankerous old bastard. But he's  _ our _ cantankerous old bastard, and he is coming home." I stopped in the middle of the floor, fingers flexing, trying to regain control of myself. "That's why I brought you all here," I continued, calmer. "Maelona, please bear witness to my words. If I don't make it back- Shut up!" I snarled as Burz started to speak. "If I do not make it back, then I name Modryn Oreyn my successor. If neither of us makes it back, then I name Azzan the new Guild Master. Burz, I'm sorry. I know you're the better fighter, but Azzan is more charismatic, and the Guild is going to need a good leader if this all goes sideways."  
"Well, I'm honoured, Boss," Azzan nodded. "But you're not stepping down so lightly. This isn't the only reason why we're here, is it?"  
"No," I said. I took a few deep breaths, trying to lower my heartbeat and think like a leader instead of a panicking fool. "I'd quite like to make it out of this alive. Which is why, Burz, you're going to be my back-up plan."  
A slow smile spread around that big green face. "Now we're talking. What's the plan then, Boss?"


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was setting over the Colovian Highlands, as I approached Broken Promises Cave on foot. Burz had sent some of our best scouts to find the place, discovering it not far from Chorrol. They'd reported that there was a camp just outside the cave, so I'd left all my gear at Battlehorn Castle, and told Shadowmere to go back to Fort Farragut. The last honey-gold rays were sinking behind the Highlands as I walked carefully forward, stomping on anything that looked like it might make noise. I was clad in the Spellturn robes and Bladeturn Hood, a set of rich-looking red and gold robes designed to disarm my would-be captors, while still protecting me. Nestled in the small of my back, hidden in the folds of the robe, was the Blade of Woe. I was trying my hardest to look like some rich fop who didn't deserve their reputation. Small and weak. The more they underestimated me, the better for the plan to work.

I walked forward, trying my hardest to make noise, and not sneak. After years of training, a habit like that is hard to break. I thought back to my last meeting, after Burz's scouts had found this place. He hadn't been on board with the plan. Even Maelona had thought I was crazy. It was hard to dismiss their criticisms – this _was_ a bad plan. Burz had wanted to charge in with a group, take Modryn by force and leave the way we'd come. I'd argued my way was better because we had no idea what was waiting on the inside. I didn't want them to hear us coming and kill the grumpy Dunmer before we'd gotten to him. I thought if I could convince them I was alone and unarmed, they'd let Modryn go. Burz was waiting with a team to collect him. Then I'd wreak havoc and leave their heads on spikes on my way out. If I made it, then great. If not, Maelona had my Will, and Modryn was Guildhead. Modryn would be angry at me, sure, but I'd be too dead to hear him.

"Who's there?" I heard a rough Nord voice call out.  
I took a few breaths before I replied, quelling the urge to slink back into the shadows and put the Blade in his back.  
"I'm the Fighter's Guildmaster," I called, walking up to the camp, my hands raised. "I heard you were looking for me. Seems you found a friend of mine, and I'm here to collect him."  
"Yeah, well. We'll see about that, won't we?" The blond approached me, his blade out. Behind him, a Bosmer sniggered.  
"Doesn't look like much," the Bosmer commented. "You sure you're the one who defeated Mehrunes Dagon?"  
"Yes." Gods, but I still hated it when people brought that up. Even after the catharsis of the Dark Brotherhood's missions. I took a breath. "I've come for Modryn Oreyn. You can see I'm alone and unarmed. I'd very much appreciate it if you could bring him out for me."  
"Yeah, that ain't happening just yet," the Nord said. "You'll come in with us first. Otherwise, how do we know your fighter buddies ain't just hanging around the corner there?"  
"Alright," I agreed, "That's fair."  
"Elandril," the Nord said, "you stay out here. I'll take the Guildmaster to see the Boss." He turned to me, the tattoos on his face looking like dark wells in the lowering light. "And you, get to walking." He gestured with his sword that I was to go first. I gave him a curt nod, walking into the cave.

I saw the pressure switch a mile off, even given the low light and guttering torches creating moving shadows. The Nord made me walk ahead, which was just as well for me. I stepped to one side, deliberately catching the edge of the plate as he fumbled to light a torch. A chain rattled past me as I pushed back into the cold rock wall. The Nord gave a surprised grunt. In the fallen torchlight I saw the Nord on his back, rivulets of fluid flowing down the tunnel as the spiked log swung back past me. 

Normally I would feel a twinge of remorse, looking at his broken body. But these people had stolen someone dear to me. They brought this catastrophe down on themselves. I turned away, resuming my walk down the tunnel.

The tunnel opened out into a sunken cavern, where three more goons awaited me. Two of them sat on rough stools around a campfire, while another lay on a bedroll against the wall. I stopped in the doorway. They didn't look like an elite fighting squad – morals or no – just a regular group of bandits. Their equipment was nothing to write home about, and I saw none of the Blackwood Company's custom cuirasses. They also hadn't noticed me, at all. Once again, I fought down the urge to saunter over and introduce the sharp edge of the Blade of Woe to their soft jugulars. It would have been easy, sure, but I wanted to make sure they had a compelling reason to let Oryen out of here in one piece once they had me. Murdering my way inside wasn't going to help that. The Nord had been an accident. I walked to the edge of the dip and kicked a stone over the edge. It rattled down, causing the two at the fire to jump up. Weapons were drawn, the Dunmer woman training an arrow on me as her Redguard mate slowly approached.

"Excuse me? Yes, hi," I said, "I'm looking for Modryn Oryen. I got a note telling me he was down here."  
"How did you get in here?" the Dunmer archer asked.  
"Your Nord friend was kind enough to bring me in."  
"Yeah, and where is he?"  
"Seems he forgot about that little mace trap," I told her. She swore at me in the Dunmer tongue but quieted when her companion waved at her to hush.  
"You're the Champion of Cyrodill?" the Redguard asked.  
"Yep, that's me."  
He seemed to do a double-take.  
"Right, sure," he said, and glanced over his shoulder, addressing the Dunmer woman. "Tabelle, wake up Fa'nir. Send him to tell the Boss our prize has arrived." He turned back to me. "Alright then, Champion," he sneered at the title, "why don't you come down here nice and slow, and we'll take you to see the boss."  
I gave him a tight smile, walking slowly down the incline. The Dunmer woman, Tabelle kicked the sleeping Khajiit, never taking her eyes – or her arrow – off me.  
"Hey, pussy-cat. Wake up. Go tell the Boss we got company," she said.  
The Khajiit hissed. "Tell him yourself-" he began.  
"Fa'nir," the Redguard snapped over his shoulder, "go do it now."  
"Pah," Fa'nir spat, "this one is a warrior, not messenger boy. This one is a mighty hunter, above you petty prey." He continued to grumble, his tail lashing side-to-side even as he climbed out of the dip and vanished into another tunnel.  
"I should just put an arrow in this _n'wah_ ," Tabelle said, venom in her eyes. "Save us all some time."  
"No," the Redguard said. "this _n'wah_ has crimes to answer for." He walked around behind me, placing his blade tip between my shoulder blades. "Get moving, cur," he said, jabbing me. I nodded and began to follow after the Khajiit.

We walked through yet another tunnel, coming into another cave. I took the view in with a sweeping glance. A crevasse stretched through the middle of the cave. On the near side, standing at the head of a bridge over the crevasse, was a Breton woman, decked out in a Blackwood Company cuirass. On the far side was a mining crane, the jib swung out over the crevasse. From it hung a slate-grey form. Fear welled in the back of my throat, bitter and bilious. The Redguard prodded me forward and I complied, as the orange Khajiit stepped up next to the boom, his claws teasing at the rope holding Modryn aloft.

"Hi," I said, as the Redguard pulled me to a stop a half-dozen feet away from the Breton.  
"So," said the woman, "you're the hero of Kvatch?" Her lips turned up in a sneer as she looked me up and down.  
"Yep, that would be me," I said. I glanced over to Oryen. He hadn't stirred at all. "You mind if I check my man's still alive?" I asked. "Wouldn't want to give myself up for a corpse, you know?"  
"By all means," the Blackwood woman said, giving me an allowing gesture.  
"Hey," I yelled. "Bearclaw. You still with me, you rotten _fetcher_?"  
"Master?" Was his surprised response. I saw his head lift, too far to make out any other detail. I waved to him, and I can only assume he glared. "You stupid, ancestor-less _s'wit_ !" he yelled out, his voice strained and breaking. "By Azura, I will thrash you for having come here! You imbecilic gutter trash-" Fa'nir shook the jib and Modryn cut himself off.  
I turned back to the Blackwood woman. "Yeah, okay," I said. "He's fine." I held my hands up. "You can see I've come here alone and unarmed. I've told no one of my whereabouts. So how about we keep this civil? Me for him, like the note said. You've got me, you don't need him anymore. Let my man walk out of here under his own steam and I will happily stay here in his place."  
The slow, poisonous grin should have clued me in, but I was somehow still surprised by her words. "Was that the deal?" she asked. "I don't recall saying anything about letting either of you go. Although, if you're so sure you don't need him..." She waved a hand, and the Khajiit plucked at the rope holding Modryn aloft with his claws.  
Panic spiked through me. "Wait!" I yelled, lurching forward. The Redguard grabbed the back of my robes, yanking me back. Tabelle aimed an arrow at me.  
"Just say the word, _muthsera_ ," she hissed. "And I will drop this _n'wah_ in a heartbeat."  
The Breton held a hand up. "No, this murderous cretin is to remain alive for the time being."  
"Let him go," I growled. "You have me. I demand you allow him to leave-!"   
"You demand?" The Breton laughed at me. "You are in no position to demand anything."  
I could feel the situation slipping quickly away from me. I reached back, as the Breton continued her tirade, my fingers closing around the hilt of the black dagger.  
"No," she said, her eyes alive with hatred, "I think I will keep both of you. Bleed you in front of each other, so you can share my pain-"

I took my moment then, yanking out the Blade of Woe and twisting to plunge it deep into the redguard's neck. He backed away with a cry, and I crouched, following up with a fireball to his face as an arrow went whistling overhead. The Dunmer archer would keep taking potshots, but I trusted the robe's enchantments to protect against them. Instead, I spun and ran at the Breton woman. She ducked to the side, slashing at my back as I passed. I felt the sting as the robe and my skin parted under the blade, heard her cry out as some of the damage was returned to her, kept running over the rickety bridge towards the far side.

The Khajiit was waiting for me, a sword in his hand, as I reached the other end of the bridge. I sent a frost bolt his way, forcing him to duck aside and let me pass by. I turned, dancing backwards as he thrust his sword at me, then dove in to press a wounding spell to his chest. He howled as cuts opened up around my palm-print, and I grinned, feeling the life transference close up the wound on my back.  
Two arrows hit me as I danced backwards again. I yanked them out and the Khajiit's life-force closed the wounds.  
" _Fetcher_ !" I heard the Dunmer archer curse at me. "Why won't you die!"  
I turned, sprinting over to the mining crane. Modryn was cursing at me in the Dunmer tongue, as I heaved at the lever, the gears grinding and sticking. He was almost around, I could almost pull him over, when his eyes went wide.  
"Behind you," he yelled, a fraction too late. I felt something hit me in the shoulder. I faintly remember screaming, as whatever it was cut through sinew and bone, to bury itself deep in the wooden boom, pinning me there. The pain made my vision white out, just for a moment, then the adrenaline surged and I heard Mordryn yelling my name. I turned my head to find an elven bade curving from my shoulder. I reached back, fingers grasping uselessly as I failed to find purchase on the blasted thing.   
Modryn was calling my name again. I looked up at him, distantly noting how battered he was.  
"Heal me," he said. I whimpered, and reached out, channelling a healing spell through the faint touch. It wasn't as much as I'd like, but he was prettier at least.

Footsteps and a mocking laugh sounded behind me. I craned my head the other way to see the Breton woman approaching us slowly. I grappled again desperately with her sword. Blood-slicked fingers slipped from the blade again and again, as I started to panic.  
"Now, now, my pet," she crooned. She was close enough that I could feel her heat on my back. She reached around and stroked my cheek. "I think that's quite enough playtime, don't you." I took a breath, lowered my hand, moving it backwards.  
"Good, good," she murmured. "Isn't that better, pet?"  
"No," I growled, and released my Wizard's Fury into her. The roar and snap of the spell took up my whole world for an instant, black spots dancing in my vision, as her scream sounded behind me. The scream turned from pained to anger in an instant. I knew it wouldn't do much – maybe if I got out of this, I'd practice my destruction spells a bit more – but it was enough to piss her off. I shared an apologetic grin with Modryn. The Dunmer rolled his eyes as footsteps rang behind me. Something hard hit the back of my head, and the lights went out.


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark when I next opened my eyes. I was confused. After everything, didn't I deserve to be in Aetherius? Someone was ranting next to me.  
"Just what were you thinking, hrmm? Why would you just walk in here, unarmed? Alone? Couldn't you see it was a trap! I thought I taught you better than this."  
"Oh," I said. "Dammit... I'm alive."  
"Yes, thanks to the Lords above, and not the wool between your ears... Wait. What do you mean 'dammit'?"  
"Because I was supposed to be dead before you could start yelling."  
"Oh har har," Modryn muttered. I tried sitting up, only to gasp at the pain shooting from my shoulder.  
"I'd recommend keeping still," the Dunmer commented dryly, watching me struggle upright. "You still have that marvellous hole in your shoulder." He made no move to help me, and once I was upright I saw why. Manacles secured around each of his wrists were linked by chains to an iron stake driven into the stone behind him. He had enough slack to reach the barred gate for a jug and a bucket towards the back of our little cell.  
"It's fine," I panted after the white spots cleared from my vision. "I'll just heal it." I lifted my own manacled hands, made the gesture to cast, but nothing happened. I tried again, with the same result. There weren't even the tell-tale sparkles that said I was out of magicka. I closed my eyes and looked inwards, confirming my suspicions. The magic that usually curled in my belly, a blue serpent always poised to strike, was a turgid puddle hidden under a layer of ice.  
"Fudge," I cursed. "I've been Silenced."  
"Probably has something to do with your new jewellery there," Modryn said, nodding at my arm. I looked down to my right bicep. An ornate golden band encircled the muscle, digging into the flesh surrounding it. It glistened with magic.  
"Yeah, that's not mine."  
"No. I wouldn't expect it to be." Modryn rested his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Ornate as it is, it's a slave bracer. They're used extensively on Vvardenfell to prevent slaves from using magic to escape. That one's used for house slaves."  
"Oh," I said. "Damn. It can't be picked, can it?"  
"No. Not that you have the means any more. I saw them take your picks and a potion away while you were unconscious."  
I ran a hand over my face. "Dammit. I hate it when the villain is smart."  
Modryn looked over at me then, his head still lolling against the wall.  
"I want you to know," he said, "that I am very disappointed in you." He paused waiting for me to react. When I didn't give him the satisfaction, he continued. "I honestly thought you were smarter than this. You're usually so good at spotting traps."  
"Let's just say the right bait was dangled," I retorted, glancing away.  
"Even so, I would have expected a full-on charge with a phalanx of our brethren in tow. But to come in here alone, armed with nothing but that minuscule dagger-" He shook his head. "It beggars belief that you could be so stupid. A rookie recruit I might have understood, but- Wait. Why are you smiling like that?"  
"Because I'm not alone. Burz is outside. He'll figure out something went wrong and come for us."  
"Burz is your backup?" He pulled a disgusted face. "Where's Azzan?"  
"Leading the guild while I play the hero. After all, my regular guy got himself kidnapped."  
Modryn levelled a glare at me. "I suppose you think you're funny," he said and gave a derisive sniff.  
"Oh yeah," I said, deadpan. "I'm a riot. Laugh a minute, that's me."  
"Ah, you're finally awake!" I looked up to see the Breton woman standing at the barred door. She smiled darkly, twisting the key slowly so the lock  _ clunk-clunk-clunked _ open. "Now we can have some fun. Modryn, on your feet dearie."  
The old dumner started to move.  
"No," I said. I struggled to my feet, thinking I might pass out from the pain in my shoulder as I did. The Breton woman watched me with a disdainful glance.  
"And why would I take you over him?" she asked.  
"You want to hurt someone for what happened to the Blackwood Company, right?" I asked, trying to think through the pain. "To your friends?"  
She nodded slowly, as if suspecting deceit, and made a noise of agreement  
"Yeah, so. The old man wasn't there. I was. It was me. I killed them. I burnt your tree." I spat the words at her, anger flaring at the memory of what I'd done under the influence of the hist. A defiant jut of the chin, matching her stare for stare, might provoke her into attacking me over Modryn. "And you know what? I enjoyed it. Those bastards couldn't fight for salt. That Argonian? Oh, how he screamed as I-"  
In a blink, the door was slammed open, and she back-handed me. I fell back against the wall, the pain from my shoulder like lighting spreading across my chest. Iron in my mouth from a split lip. Her strong fingers curling around my throat.  
"You're right," she said, her angry pants misting against my face. "I think it is you I want. Bhos!" she yelled over her shoulder. The Redguard stepped into view.   
"Ma'am?"  
"Bring the cur out. We'll see what Champions sound like when they scream." She turned on her heel and strode out. The Redguard – Bhos – stepped in, doing something complicated to the chains. I wasn't watching. Instead, I was looking past the Redguard, at Modryn. I could see every muscle tensed, cords standing out on his lean body, as he silently strained against his pride. He knew exactly what I was doing, I could see it in his eyes. He would play his part, stay invisible, but he would not thank me for it. Bhos was locking a collar and chain around my neck, when Modryn finally looked up at me and met my eyes. They brimmed with disappointment and loathing. Then the chain lead was tugged, and I was forced to look away.

  
I followed, meek as a foal, as Bhos led me to the other side of the cave. We were somewhere new, I noted absently. This was a much smaller cave than either I'd been in before. An iron ring was fixed to the roof of the cave, through which the Dunmer archer fed the tail of the chain. As she did so, the Redguard pulled my hands behind my back. I think I stopped breathing for a moment, the pain of my wound blotting out everything else. As soon as I could think again, I began consciously closing down the parts of myself that could still feel emotion – fear, distress. Love. The Dunmer gave a sharp tug, pulling me up by the neck to my toes. I spun gently, watching the Dunmer tie-off the chain with cold detachment. Just like every time Martin sent me off, just like every Gate I walked into, there was only the mission before me. Nothing else mattered but making it through the mission. The woman looked up, accidentally making eye contact. She blinked and jerked her head back, as if unnerved by what she'd seen there. 

And as well she might, a distant part of me supposed. After all, these people couldn't do any worse to me than that which I had done in the service of my Emperor. There wasn't much worse than running over lava, your legs blistering, burning, regrowing from the restorative potion you'd chugged beforehand. Nothing much worse than jumping from a dremora tower, praying to the Nine you'll make the fall, because that's somehow better than wandering, disorientated, in the suffocating tunnels beneath them. Of feeling your legs splintering on impact with the ground, crawling and clawing desperately away from the lava that's already burning your feet. Knowing you are utterly alone here. That no one is coming for you. That no one will ever know if you die in this Gods-forsaken place. Propping yourself upright in the cleft of a rock, tears evaporating the moment they grace your cheeks, praying that the daedra on the other side don't hear your whimpers, don't smell your blood, don't  _ find _ you, as you silently riffle through your pack for something, anything that will stop the pain, the burning, dear gods, the  _ pain _ .

The first blow stung, and the next, and the next. The Breton's blade sang along my skin, the keening hot wind of Oblivion. I whimpered, and grunted through pressed lips, knowing that any noises I made were animal reactions, not me. Not mine.

There was nothing worse they could do to me, than I'd already felt watching the men I love fall in battle, sacrificing themselves for an Empire that will surely crumble anyway. Knowing every life lost around me was a life I could have saved. If I'd been faster, stronger, better. If I had prayed harder, taken a different path. The liturgy of my dead sounded with each blow, each cut, each burn.

"Why won't you scream!" The Breton cut through my reminiscence. She gripped my chin in her hand, her eyes blazing into mine. "No man or mer could take such punishment and not scream. I want you to scream for me!"  
"Very well," I said, in a voice as cold as the grave – distantly I thought Lucien would have approved. "If that is truly your wish..." I opened my mouth and let the pain pour through me. The loss, the burning, the fear, the hate. It rolled out of my mouth like a gale, a blizzard, and hit her in the face. She let go and stumbled back, almost surprised. When I was hoarse, I stopped.  
"Nothing you could do," I rasped out, "will ever match what has already been done."

The chamber emptied, the Blackwood company fled, leaving me hanging there from the neck.  
No matter that they couldn't touch my spirit, they'd done a bang-up job of breaking my body. I didn't have the energy to even stand, and soon my vision was fading out as the iron band around my neck cut off blood and air.  
"Master! Master, stand up. You are going to pass out if you do not stand right now. Master! Stupid  _ fetching _ \- Master!" I could dimly hear Modryn yelling at me. He even tried calling my name a few times, his pleas increasingly desperate. "Akatosh forgive me," I dimly heard him say, before he yelled, in the voice he used on rookie recruits, "The Emperor has given you an order, Champion. You will stand up right now!"  
_ Martin...  
_ My whole body jerked to obey the command. Then I was gasping, sucking in as much air as I could, dizzy and spinning, coughing on blood in my throat.  
"Lords above," I heard Modryn say. "I am getting too old for this."   
I stood for a moment, spinning on the tips of my toes, every ache and pinch of my wounds starting to make themselves known. I had to ask before the pain became too much.  
"Bearclaw," I said. "Don't ever use my Emperor like that again."  
I could feel his glare. "I will do whatever I deem necessary," he retorted. I heard his chains shift. "You should have just let her take me," the Dunmer said after a moment. "She would have tired of me quicker."  
I spat blood, tilting so if I passed out from the pain I wouldn't fall forward and choke to death. "And what sort of leader would that make me?" I asked. "If I cowered behind my subordinates."  
There was nothing but a harrumph from the darkened cell.  
"How long has it been anyway?" I asked.   
"Not sure," came the reply. "Nearly an hour, I think."  
There was a long beat of silence.  
" _ Shit _ . Modryn, I-"  
"You didn't have a backup plan did you?" Modryn asked, suddenly sounding very old and very tired.  
"I did! I do!" My feet scrambled at the floor, so I could stand upright again. "Something must have gone wrong. I swear to you Modryn-"  
"Don't. Just... Don't." He sighed. "I would rather not have false hope."  
"Modryn-" my voice was close to a howl. He didn't believe me. He honestly thought I'd come without a dozen backups. Nothing the Breton could have done would hurt as much as this. Modryn thinking I'd acted foolishly, that in the end, I'd betrayed him by not thinking ahead, that we were both going to die in this cave. "No, no no! Someone is coming, Bearclaw, I promise! I promise! Modryn,  _ listen _ -"  
"Get some rest," his voice lashed out, whip-sharp. "As much as you can. They won't return tonight, but you'll need it on the morrow. Maybe I can think of something," he added in a mumble. "Get us through this mess like I always do."

For a moment I was stunned. Was that really what he thought of me? That I was still some wet-behind-the-ears recruit with no ounce of sense. That I wasn't someone who he could trust to get us out of here? Did he blame me for this, I wondered. Did... Did he hate me? The howl that ripped out of me had nothing to do with my pains. My knees gave out and my head jerked back, the collar cutting off the howl, turning it into a whine instead. For a long moment, I fought, trying to remember how my limbs worked, how to breathe. Then my feet were beneath me again, and I could tilt backwards, trying to get as comfortable as possible in these abominable circumstances. Which wasn't easy when every move made me whimper behind my lips, caused tears to flow of their own volition. I worked on breathing, slow and steady. Recounting the plans in my head.

If Kurz gro-Baroth in Chorrol hadn't heard from us by midnight, he was to send two riders, one to Azzan, and one to Battlehorn Castle. The regiment at Battlehorn was to mount an offensive in the early hours. If Kurz still didn't hear anything, I still had three more contingencies to count on. But the Breton woman only had four with her. My men should be able to take the day easily. We'd be back in Chorrol by noon, I was sure of it. We just had to last the night.


	5. Chapter 5

I slept fitfully – to be expected when you're nearly strangled each time you fall asleep – but I must have slept to be woken. The Breton woman marched in, at some point when the sun was high enough to slope down through the holes in the ceiling, and hurled a shield in front of me. It clattered on the stone, and I jerked awake fully, scrabbling to catch my feet under me again.

"Do you see this, Champion?" she asked, radiating dark glee. "Did you think we wouldn't be able to find your pitiful back-up?" I stared down at the shield. It was riven through, right down to the fangs of some exotic beast that decorated the centre. I knew that shield, knew its owner.  
"What did you do?" I whispered. I hadn't meant for it to come out so horrified, so pitiful.  
She laughed. "Your fighters ran off when my people attacked, their tails between their legs like the mongrels they are."  
"And the owner of that shield?" I was too tired to push down the fear, to appear disinterested, and she knew. The bitch knew, and she revelled in my suffering.  
"I think we left him dying in a ditch someplace," she said airily, with a wave of the hand. "Fa'nir!" She turned around and tutted. "Where has that misbegotten cat gotten to..." The Breton turned back to me. "We should get you healed up," she said with a cloying smile. "It's not fun if we accidentally kill you." With that, she walked off, calling for the Khajiit.  
"Boss..." Modryn was awake then. His voice wavered and I closed my eyes. "Is that gro-Khash's shield?"  
"Yes," I said. "But it doesn't mean anything. He's not dead. He's too ugly and stubborn to die. The same goes for you, Bearclaw."  
"Right... Right, of course." I could hear the hopelessness in his voice still, but I was too tired to give him any more of a pep talk.   
As it was, the Khajiit chose that moment to prowl in.   
"Mistress says to heal you," he told me, rolling the sibilants of his words. "But she did not say how." He bared his fangs at me. "This one had brothers which you murdered. For that this one will heal you slowly, so you can feel your flesh mend." He didn't wait for me to comment, but put his paw to my shoulder, and fed the magic in, as he said. I thought it wouldn't be too bad. Martin had used his magic on me before when I'd been too exhausted to use my own. Fa'nir's method was nothing like I was used to. I felt bone creaking inside of me, the scapula reforming, knowing it would grow wrong because of my posture. Next were the tendon and deep tissues. I retched, the sensation of skin creeping inside me as it was reknitted making me nauseous. Nerve endings reconnected, a million pin-pricks dancing like electricity over my skin, as I dry-heaved, and sweated, twitching against the compulsive urge to scratch and scratch. And that was just the one wound. The Breton woman had given me a dozen more like it, the Khajiit taking his time over each. Blades and blows I could take. This... This was something else entirely. It was nothing like my Emperor's delicate, gentle touch. Nothing like my own fast get-it-done-and-dusted healing. This was a corruption of everything Mara taught. This was a nightmare. 

  
The pools of sunlight on the cave floor had shifted considerably by the time Fa'nir was done, and I dimly realised that my troops from Battlehorn had yet to arrive. I felt my nerve drop. What if Kurz forgot? What if Armand hadn't delivered my messages? Worse still, if he had and the recipients had chosen to ignore my call. There were so many points in the chain where something could have slipped, gone missing or been ignored. Maybe in that regard, Modryn was right. We were on our own and had to get out of this by ourselves. I closed my eyes against the despair that welled up. What, by the fires of Oblivion, was I supposed to do with my hands bound behind my back and chained by the neck?

  
When the pools of sunlight on the floor projected straight down, the Bosmer, Elandril, came in. With no preamble, he loosened the chain that held me up. I fell to the floor, clumsily rolling. The stone floor jarred every bone in my body, making me feel like a struck bell, vibrating all over. I heard him resecure the chain and walk towards me, his footsteps ringing loudly after the silence from Fa'nir. A bowl was dropped with a clatter in front of me, and water sloshed in from a height, causing most of it to spill over the edges.  
"Drink," the Bosmer said. I regarded the bowl warily from where I lay on my side, waiting for Elandril to leave. I didn't trust that it wouldn't be kicked over or moved from my reach the moment I made a move to drink it.  
"What are you waiting for?" Elandril snapped. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. "I said drink!" He smashed my face down into the bowl. My nose and mouth filled with brackish water, I struggled to hold my breath, to not drown while I struggled to throw him off. Just as my lungs were burning, he let the pressure off. I rolled to the side, spraying water everywhere, taking huge breaths filled with racking coughs. Elandril laughed, and I was seized with a foolish rush of anger. I kicked out, my bare feet connecting with something that gave under the blow. Then the Bosmer was on the floor, screaming as he clutched his leg. I kicked out again. Again and again, until hands were pulling me away, and I was the one being kicked into submission.   
With effort, I closed my mind to the pain. This could never match the fear, the surrealist dread, that Vaermina had sent me into, I tried to remind myself. Or the twisted world of Henantier's dream. Those deep voids surrounding the narrow walkway, nothingness as far as could be perceived. Of knowing one false step would end everything. That even in one's dreams, one was not always safe.   
The chain jerked, pulling me to my knees. Someone was cursing me out, but they may as well have been speaking Jel for all that I understood. A liquid was forced down my throat but I tasted only blood. The voices, still aggressive, faded away, and I was left to hang.  
I faded in and out of consciousness – I don't know for how long – when Modryn called out to me.  
"Master?"  
"Still here," I croaked out. One eye wouldn't open, swollen and glued shut by blood crusted over it. Trying to draw breath was like breathing in splinters of glass – cracked or broken ribs, then. One hand felt odd, and I found I was listing to one side, unable to put equal weight on my knees.  
"Sweet Azura," I heard Modryn mutter as I faded out again, "thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

When I next woke I was back in the cell. A masculine scream rent the air, making me jerk upright. Making my head pound and vision swim. Making every nerve ending feel like it was on fire. I blinked my good eye, utterly disorientated. The scream came again, and I turned, trying to find the source.  
"Looks like the Guildmaster is awake, Boss," said a high-pitched, annoying voice. That would be the Bosmer then.   
"Come for a second round?" I said, my throat still raw and scratchy. I caught sight of him, pale and peering through the cage bars at me. Elandril giggled.  
"No, he hasn't," said the Breton woman. I turned away from Elandril to look at her. She stood near the center of the cave, illuminated in the dying light from those rays that entered the cave. "However, I thought we'd try something... different. If you're determined to remain steadfast and fight back, then maybe you weren't the one I wanted to practice on." She gave me a wicked grin and turned away, walking towards someone else chained to the ceiling.   
My stomach dropped. "No."  
"Oh yes," the Breton said. She walked behind the prone Dunmer. "Say 'hello' Modryn," she said, driving a dagger into his side. He threw his head back and screamed.  
"No!" I yelled, throwing myself forward in reflex, causing sparks to dance in my vision as all of my injuries complained at once. "No, no nono. Let him go. You don't need him, he wasn't there! He didn't even know what was happening until I told him. He's not who you want!"  
"You shouldn't lie to me, pet," the Breton said, taking a few steps towards me. "I know he gave the order. He's as culpable as you."  
She gestured to the Khajiit, and I watched, eyes wide with horror, as Fa'nir healed the stab wound. They'd stripped Modryn to his waist. Dark stains like wine ran down his statuesque slate-blue form. My lieutenant dry-heaved as the healing was applied, slowly slowly, as they had for me.  
"Leave him alone!" I screamed, straining against my bonds.   
"Do you want to know something I've learnt from dealing with you and your precious Second?" the woman asked. "It's that you care more for your comrades than yourselves." She walked back to Modryn, spinning her dagger. "Usually that would be a lauded attribute. But right now, it just gets you into more trouble." She ran the dragger-point down Modryn's chest, even as Fa'nir was working the Dunmer's other side.  
"He didn't do the deed," I sobbed. "He wasn't there."  
The woman looked back at me over her shoulder. "I don't care," she said, her smile icy. "You see, I want you to suffer. And you won't suffer for yourself, so he'll have to do it for you." She drove a fist into Modryn's stomach. He doubled over, gasping for breath as the collar cut into his airways.  
"No!" I yelled again, half scream, half sob. "If you want me to scream for you then fine, I will. If you want me to say I'm sorry, say I made a mistake, then I will. But, please. Please! I'm begging you, let him go." She'd turned away to wipe her blade on a cloth and now paused, standing in profile to me with her head tipped back, a rapturous expression on her face.  
"Oh, yes. There's the stuff." She rolled her shoulders, as though luxuriating in front of a warm fire with a glass of fine wine. "Keep that up, pet, and maybe I'll let you take over from your darling Dunmer." She glanced over and gave a wink, before walking back to Modryn.  
"May I be permitted to say something?" he asked, his voice raw. The Breton regarded him for a long moment, then shrugged.  
"After the delightful things your master just said, I'm feeling generous." She waved the dagger in an allowing gesture towards me. "Go ahead."  
Modryn made a concerted effort to stand up, straight and dignified.  
"Master," he said, "Do you recall what I said about gro-Khash when you enquired about obtaining more contracts?"  
I stared at him for a long moment, casing my mind back.  
There'd been a chill in the air that day, even with the morning sun streaming into the dining hall. I'd caught him coming up the stairs after Vilena had admitted me into the guild, and asked about the chapter heads. Of Burz, he'd said, _He's tough, sure, but a lot of its grumble. Pay it no heed._ I swallowed, nodding.  
"Well then," the Dunmer said. I opened my mouth to protest, but he must have seen my expression. He scowled. He didn't do that very often any more, not around me at least, and I'd forgotten how fearsome it was. "What are you waiting for?" he asked, his tone crisp as that day we'd met, even if his voice was much older and worn.  
I bit down on my protests, and turned away, as he'd requested.  
"Oh, wasn't that touching," the Breton woman said. I didn't see what she did, but I heard Modryn's grunts and cries as she continued her punishment. I turned my back fully on the scene, drawing my legs inwards, trying not to make any noise as she tortured my Second-in-Command. I'd been in worse situations, I reminded myself. No matter what they did, I'd endured more than they could ever inflict. Modryn though- _No, don't consider that_. I could stay silent for Modryn's sake. I pressed my face into my knees, gripped my hands around them so tightly, the manacles dug in, drawing more blood. I could pray to the Nine, make a silent deal with the Daedra Lords, anything, if it was for Modryn's sake.

~*~*~

The light had gone from the outside world by the time they'd finished with Modryn. He'd been right the first time, I thought. Without my pleas and desperate begging, the Breton woman had tired of him quicker than she'd tired of me. It didn't buy me a reprieve though. Elandril and Fa'nir dragged Modryn back into the cell, dumping him in a heap and reattaching his manacles. Then Fa'nir had backed out, and the Breton had entered. I thought about fighting, but that idea was quashed when the Bosmer put a dagger to Modryn't throat. The implication was clear, and I limped out, led by the neck like a dog. Elandril didn't move all the while I was winched up. Only when I was secured again did the Bosmer retreat.

The Breton paced around me, tapping her dagger on her chin. "You know," she said eventually, "I've been thinking. If you're so determined to stay quiet, why don't we make a little game of it? Let's see just how quiet you can stay. For every noise you make, I'll take it out of Oreyn's hide tomorrow. Understand?" She used the blade to lift my chin, icy blue eyes staring into mine, blazing with hate. "Hrm?"   
I nodded, such as I could.  
She gave me a winning smile. "Ah, you've got the hang of it already. Good, good." She flipped the dagger onto its edge and drew the blade along the underside of my chin. I closed my eyes, fighting down the whimper trying to escape. Then she began in earnest.


	7. Chapter 7

They'd left me hanging for the night again, nauseated from Fa'nir's ministrations, disoriented and dehydrated from blood loss. The cave was dark, only the faintest starlight reached us from the holes in the ceiling. Is it any wonder then, that when cold reptilian hands brushed mine, I jerked into full consciousness? The startled cry on my lips was stifled by that same scaled hand.  
"Greetings, fellow thief," whispered a droll Argonian voice from behind me. "I trust you realise it would be well to stay silent?"  
I nodded into the hand.  
"Good," the voice said, and the hand withdrew. Something about that voice was familiar. It wasn't until the manacles dropped from my wrists with the tiniest of clinks, that I understood.  
"Amusei?" I whispered.  
"One and the same," the Argonian said. I felt his hands on the back of my neck, investigating the collar. "This one will be trickier..."

He padded away from me, towards the cell where Modryn lay, sleeping. Yes, sleeping – I wouldn't countenance anything else. Another figure moved in the dark, beside the cell door, and Amusei whispered to it. Other shadows twitched to life in my periphery, and I twisted to see someone stood there, his long curved sword glittering in the faint light. Only a few people I knew carried swords like that – the Dunbarrow crew. I nearly cried out in relief. Plans E and F had arrived together. I didn't think to question what had happened to Plan D.  
I hissed out between my teeth. Amusei and the second shadow paused in their whispering, said something more, then the second shadow broke away, coming towards me. It resolved into the form of a young Bosmer woman. She silently raised a questioning eyebrow.  
"Methredhel," I greeted her. "Take the Dunmer and get out."  
She shook her head. "My instructions are for both of you."  
I bit back a scream of frustration. "Amusei says the collar is too difficult. Take the Dunmer, and come back for me. Please, 'Redhel."

She was silent for what felt like too many heartbeats, her face inscrutable in the dark. Then she gave a quick nod, and padded back to the cell, waving over the pirate, Zedrick, I thought. Another shadow, presumably Scurvy John, followed suit. They had a short conflab inside the cell before Methredhel trotted back out. She leaned in close enough that I could smell the leather of her armour and the lavender soap with which she bathed.  
"Alright, here's the plan," she whispered into my ear. "The disreputable gentlemen will take your Dunmer to a prearranged point, while you and I wait for the distraction. Then we'll see about the collar. Can you run if needed?"  
"Probably not. Got any potions?"  
Methredhel nodded against my face. "Your mage friends are very useful," she said. Before I could ask what she meant, the Bosmer was pulling away and I could only wonder at her words. How did she know about my ties with the Mages Guild, and what did she mean by 'the distraction'? Then she was pressing a vial into hands that shook so fiercely she had to uncork the bottle for me and help me drink. A flush of sweet, iron-flavoured magic washed through me, though I gagged at the sensation of bones growing and muscle reknitting. Methredhel swiftly put her hand over my mouth to stop the noises, and to stop the potion from coming back up.  
"Better?" she asked as my tremors stopped.  
"Aye. For now."  
She gave me another quick nod and stepped around to look at the collar's lock. As she did so, I watched figures emerge from the cell. The pirates carried Modryn between them in a queen's lift while Amusei raised a hand, signalling that their part was going well, and they would continue. The four soon disappeared around a corner of the cave. Yet another shadow, clad in leathers as purple as the night, detached from the wall to follow them, and I realised with a start that the Dark Brotherhood were here as well. Plan D was involved with E and F? What the hell was going on...

Things only got more confusing from thereon. After what could have only been a few minutes, but felt like hours in the watchful dark, I heard a commotion coming from the left – the opposite direction that the pirates had taken Modryn. Methredhel was quick to take action as soon as we heard it, loosening the collar and allowing the chink of the long chain to be hidden by the sounds of combat.  
"'Redhel, what's going on?" I asked as she took my hand.   
"I'll explain later. For now, we run." So saying she took off, pulling on my hand. I was not nearly as fast as either of us would've liked. I hobbled and limped along behind her, seeing sparks each time I put a foot down, willing the adrenalin to hide my pains.

  
By the time we caught up with Modryn's escort, my vision was wavering, and I felt flushed and freezing at once. Stabbing pains radiated from where the slave band bit in around my arm.  
"Amusei, Yinz'r," Methredhel hissed. The two Argonians took one look at me, and in tandem scooped me up. If I'd had the strength, I probably would have protested. Once I was in arms, our group took off, while the sounds of battle still raged elsewhere.

  
We'd nearly made it to the last chamber when the pain in my arm became unbearable. The two Argonians took one step too far. My entire body spasmed, my arm feeling like someone had plunged it in lava. I clawed at the band, screaming. Someone slammed a hand over my mouth as the Argonians retreated along the corridor, dumping me on the floor.  
"What do we do?" I heard Scurvy John ask. I shook off the hand, trying to catch my breath.  
"Get the Dunmer out of here," I growled.  
"But-"  
"Do it!"  
There was a pause. Then, "Yes Captain," he said, and I heard them walk away.  
Methredhel crouched down beside me. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.  
"It's this band," said the assassin crouched on my other side, as she lifted my arm. "I saw one in Pelgaliad last month. It's used to keep slaves from escaping. If they get far enough from the key, then..." She gestured at me.  
"It's just another lock, right? I'll just-" Methredhel was interrupted by the assassin catching her hand.  
"You cannot pick an enchanted lock," she said. "We have to find the key, or our dear Listener will never be able to leave."  
"That gods damned Breton woman probably has it," I said, scrabbling at the walls. "Help me up." The rush of anger filled my veins like fire, giving me strength I would pay dearly for later.   
"Listener, are you sure-"  
"Yes! 'Redhel, what other potions do you have?"   
The Bosmer started a little and flipped a belt pouch open, fishing out a handful of vials. "Ah. I used the Detect Life and the Nighteye... There's another two Healing, a Shield, an Invisibility, a Fortify Fatigue..." She looked back at me, as I leant heavily on the assassin's arm.  
"Give me the Fortify Fatigue," I said. She looked worried as she handed over the potion. I gripped it tightly – I'd save it for when it was desperately needed. "Now get out of here, both of you."   
The thief and the assassin shared a look.  
"Respectfully, Listener, no," said the assassin. "I don't know about our thief here, but my orders are to bring you out alive. In the state you are, you will die, be it from a blade or blood loss."  
Methredhel nodded. "Aye, mine are close enough to that. Sorry, Guildmate, but we're coming with you."  
I looked between the two of them. The assassin was resolute, just enough jut of the chin, thought her eyes were anxious. Methredhel just looked annoyed with me, as she so often had when I was new to the guild and clumsy with it.  
"Fine," I grumbled. "I need a blade." Smiles lit up both women's faces, and a pair of fine steel daggers appeared in their hands. I tucked the potion vial in my bandeau and took both.   
"Stay stealthy," I told them. "The bitch is likely to be wherever the fighting's thickest. Who are they fighting, anyway?"  
"Some fellows from the Fighter's Guild and a private force from up the road," Methredhel said. I frowned, forcing the thought to the back of my mind. There was too much going on to get distracted by that coincidence.   
The three of us padded back down the corridor with Methredhel in the lead. With every step we took towards the fighting, the better I felt, as though the enchantment wore off the closer I got to the key.

~*~*~

We tracked back through the complex of tunnels and caves, coming into the chamber with the crevasse. The fighting had slowed considerably by the time we arrived, only Bhos and Tabelle holding out on a raised ledge. We paused by the head of the bridge, scanning the scene. There were more bodies than I expected – evidently the Breton woman had more forces than I'd assumed. And there she was, being held at the edge of the cave, an orc standing over her. He turned and a wash of relief passed over me, nearly taking my legs out. _Burz_ . I'd been certain the Breton was lying about leaving him dead in a ditch, but it was nice to see the evidence of his continued existence with my own eyes. I pulled out the potion Methredhel had given me and downed it. I was going to need everything I could now, I thought.  
"Assassin, you're a mage, correct? Would you mind doing the honours," I said, gesturing at Tabelle and Bhos.  
"Of course, reverend Listener," she murmured. She stepped forward, white light shooting from her hand to strike the Dunmer archer. Tabelle fell, paralyzed as frost tinged her dark hair white. No longer pinned down by Tabelle's fire, the fighters were able to take Bhos down with ease.  
"Thank you," I said, passing the assassin and approaching Burz and the Breton.

"Boss!" Burz cried out as we approached. He straightened, looking over at Methredhel, his voice dropping to an angry growl. "What's the Guildmaster still doing here? This wasn't the plan."  
"We hit a problem," the thief said, her response cool.  
"Have you searched her?" I asked Burz, inclining my chin at the Breton woman.   
"Aye, boss."  
"Did you find a key of any kind?"  
At this, the Breton laughed. "Oh that's just precious," she said, smiling wickedly despite her bloodied and bruised face. "You finally figured out you can't leave here?" She spat blood. "We'll rot here together, you and I. I got rid of the key."  
I could feel the horror taking over my expression before it morphed to anger.  
"Boss, what's she talking about?" Burz asked.  
"Where is it!" I yelled, flying forward. Burz caught me easily with one arm, dragging me backwards and away.  
"Burz, let go. That's an order!" I yelled as I struggled. The Breton just laughed again, as two of our brother fighters stepped up to take Burz's place guarding her.  
"Boss. You gotta calm down," the big orc said, keeping his voice low as he dragged me back further. "We didn't find any key. Tell me what we're looking for so we can search for it. What's it the key to, anyhow?"  
"If I may, Sir?" The assassin stepped up to my other side. "The key we seek is to the slave band here. Our reverend Listener will not be able to leave this cave system with the band still attached, and it cannot be removed via conventional means."  
Burz looked over my head at the Breton assassin. "You know what it looks like?" he asked.  
"Yes," she said, "though I fear it will not be easy to find. We are looking for a small key, no bigger than this." She held up her pinkie finger for consideration.   
"I bet she threw it in the crevasse," I said then, bitterness colouring my words. "The bitch said she got rid of it, right? If you were in her boots and wanted to keep someone you despised in some stinking cave for the rest of their life, how better than to lose the key to their escape in an unfathomably deep hole?"

My companions stared at me for a long moment as they weighed my words.  
"That makes an unfortunate amount of sense..." Methredhel said.  
Burz lowered his arm, and I turned back to the Breton woman.   
"We may as well put her to the sword," I said, loud enough to carry. "If she doesn't know where the key is, then she's of no use to us. The stain of the Blackwood company needs to be wiped out forever."  
"May I do the honours, Master?" Burz asked. I looked up at him. He bristled with anger, a deep-seated fury that seeped from every pore. "I can only imagine what she has done to you and Oryen, so you would be within your rights to say no. But I wish to claim her life in the name of our brothers murdered by her kind in Forsaken Mine." I glanced at our brothers on either side of the forsaken woman. They seemed to tense at the memory of that news spreading like wildfire through our ranks. I stepped away from him.  
"The honour is all yours gro-Khash," I said. Our brothers took a prudent step away, as Burz advanced on the Breton, unsheathing his mace. The Breton looked wildly between me and him.   
"Surely you're not going to allow this?" she said, alarmed. "I'm bound, on my knees. This is murder! What happened to your precious Fighter's Guild honour?"  
"Should I remind you," I asked coldly, "that until my comrades arrived, you had me bound and prone, giving no appearance of remorse for what you did to me or mine? Don't confuse us with the Knights of the Nine. Fighter's Guild honour demands a life for a life. Unless you can give me a compelling reason to spare yours, then I see no reason not to continue."  
The Breton's eyes flicked desperately around the room, finding no quarter in anyone's expression.  
"The key!" she said. "I threw the key into the crevasse."  
"Not compelling enough," I said.  
The Orc drew his glass mace, rolling his huge green shoulders to limber up.  
"Wait! Please! Wait!"  
Burz stood over the woman, his mace drawn high as though winding up for his strike.  
"I can show you how to get down! I remember where I threw it!"  
"Hold!" I called. Burz froze, looking across to me, and I shook my head.  
"She might be of use yet," I said and turned away. The potion was wearing off and the flush of anger had passed, leaving me exhausted. "Castellan," I said, waving at the Battlehorn Castle Captain, "work with gro-Khash to find out what she knows and recover the key."  
Castellan Athon clapped his fist to his chest. "Of course, Champion," he said and strode past me.  
"'Redhel," I said, wavering on my feet. "Can you help them? I know your eyesight is pretty good, even without augmentation, and I seem to recall you like shiny things..." The thief turned from where she'd faced away from the imminent death, quirking a smile.  
"I do like shiny things, yes. Prefer it when they're worth something. But for you, I will help them."  
"Thank you," I said, head drooping.  
"I'll send you an invoice later," she said, laughing when I rolled my eyes.  
"And what about you, reverend Listener?" the assassin asked.  
"I am going to sit down over there and possibly pass out for a few minutes," I said, staggering my way over to what seemed like a comfortable spot against the wall.

~*~*~

I woke to what sounded like a rumble of thunder, the floor shivering under me. I gained my feet, far more sluggish than I'd like, and hobbled over to where the Dark Brotherhood mage crouched, close to the chasm's maw.   
"What happened?" I asked. She was scanning the depths of the crevasse.  
"There was a rockfall close to the end," she said, pointing. Panic spiked through me, but the assassin hadn't finished, "I don't believe any of your people have been trapped or injured. I saw Methredhel dodging stones, but the fighters were at the other end." The assassin looked at me. "The thief moves well, like a dancer," she added. "It is poetry to watch her operate."  
I grinned. "Last I heard she was available," I said and gave an easy shrug. "No harm in asking if she makes it back in one piece. Just don't expect to bring her into the family – she's squeamish."  
The assassin gave me a serious nod. "Thank you for the advice, Listener."  
There was a creaking of unoiled hinges then, and we both looked over to where a trapdoor on the further side swung open. The assassin stood as Bruz climbed out, Methredhel over his shoulder. We looked at each other.  
"If you have healing, then go," I said. "They'll need you." The assassin nodded and hurried over.   
"I got it!" Methredhel called, holding up her hand. Burz moved over to let the others out of the trapdoor, setting the thief down gently.

I limped over, as Burz took the key from 'Redhel and let the assassin take over her care.  
"What happened?" I asked.   
"The Blackwood woman triggered a rockfall as she was showing your thief where the key might have landed. The Bosmer girl caught a rock and broke her leg, but otherwise, everyone is fine." He motioned for me to hold my arm out, and set to unlocking the damnable device.  
"And the Breton?" I asked.  
"She didn't make it," Bruz said.   
"I'm sorry," I said. "I know how much you wanted to be the one that made her pay." The lock clicked and I felt the coldness in my belly retreat, the serpent of my magicka raising a sleepy head to taste the air.  
"She got her comeuppance in the end," the pragmatic orc said with a shrug. "What do you want to do with this?" He held up the golden band.   
"Bring it with us. I'll lock it away someplace safe. Who knows, it might come in handy one day."   
He raised an eyebrow but made no further comment.  
"Gather up the troops would you?" I asked. "I am more than ready to get out of here."  
Burz smiled and gently patted my shoulder.   
"Sure thing," he said as I turned away. "And Boss?"  
"Yeah?" I said, pausing.  
"It's good to have you back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware I took a lot of liberties with the way the slave bracers work in this. Canon-wise they only show up in Morrowind, and have a constant _Drain Magicka_ effect.


	8. Epilogue

It was late by the time Azzan and Armand had finished briefing me on their activities while Modryn and I had been... indisposed. I'd turned down the mage healer Raminus had sent. I just couldn't stand the thought of magical healing – now the situation was less dire, I couldn't even stomach a potion. So while my wounds were tended to in the old fashioned way, the two redguards had regaled me with their adventures. 

It turned out that not only had Armand read through the missives the 'Grey Fox' had asked him to send, but he'd also acquired the news that something was amiss in the Fighter's guild. A chat with Spymaster Marana Rian had led him to contact Azzan, and the pair had concocted our rescue. They had re-crafted my missives, gathering together members from each guild and group I headed, combining each talent in such a way that allowed our optimal escape. It explained why, after Burz had been chased away, the Battlehorn guard had taken their sweet time in arriving.

Part of me wasn't pleased – I'd tried to keep each of my dealings with my various factions separate from each other for good reason. But at the same time, their schemings in my name had saved Modryn, and for that, I could be thankful.

After they were done, the healer informed me I needed to rest, which was about as obvious as telling me I needed to eat and drink. But I dutifully dragged myself up and out of the dining hall where we'd been debriefing, and into the main hall with the intent of heading upstairs. They'd put Modryn in my bed, apparently for lack of anywhere else to put a half-conscious Dunmer. Fortunately, my maid Rona had made up a cot in my room so that I wasn't expected to share with said half-conscious Dunmer. I was glad. Not only would that have been embarrassing for the both of us, I knew from the time we'd slept on the road to Arpenia he tended to thrash in his sleep.

I paused at the foot of the stairs, looking into the great hall. It was so strange to see so many encamped under the taxidermied beasts. So many who'd come to my aid, with only a simple request – save your boss. I was so lost in the sight I never heard Methredhel walk up beside me. She touched me lightly on the shoulder and I damn near jumped out of my skin.  
"Sorry, sorry," she said, holding her hands up in apology.   
"Everything okay?" I asked when my heartbeat had returned to normal.  
"Yes, great actually." She stopped, glancing away as a slow flush dusted her cheeks. "I wanted to say thank you. I'm not sure what you said but, thank you. I like your Dark Brotherhood friend very much. We're going out for a drink in a few days, to celebrate a job well done."  
"Oh that's wonderful, 'Redhel," I said beaming at her.  
"You should join us," the Bosmer said.  
"Oh, no. Maybe another time," I said trying to weasel my way out of becoming a third wheel. "The amount of paperwork this is going to generate will keep me busy for a month at least."  
"Oh." She deflated but perked up almost instantly. "Well, next time you're in the Imperial City, swing by, okay? I still want that drink with you."  
"Of course. I'll need it once I've trawled through the fallout of this." I grinned at her. "Get some rest."  
She nodded. "Shadow hide you," she called, wandering off.  
"The Grey Fox protects you," I said in return, adding in a murmur, "and you protect the Grey Fox from their stupidity."  
With that I turned away, trudging up the stairs with a nod to the man-at-arms, so ready to put my head down and sleep.

~*~*~

I couldn't sleep. I dozed, sure. Drifting in and out of consciousness on a tide of darkness and fire. But I couldn't sleep. At dawn I gave up and rose, taking the blanket with me, to slip out through the hidden door in the library and onto the flat section of the castle's roof. I hadn't been there long, watching the false dawn paint the Colovian hills with pale mist and listen to the warbling of waking birds, when the trap door rattled open behind me.

"Ah so this is where you are," came a voice, raw like new silk.  
I gave a noncommittal grunt in return as Modryn padded over to me. I shuffled up to give him space to sit down.  
"Here, hold these," he said, proffering two mugs. I took them as he settled down, drawing the coverlet of my bed around himself, and flicking the tail of it out onto my legs. The mugs steamed gently, smelling like milk, mead and ironwood nuts.  
He took one of them back from me, inhaling the steam with a sigh.  
"Couldn't sleep either, huh? Your chef tells me that this is a good cure for insomnia," the Dunmer said as he settled back against the peaked section of roof that jutted up behind us.  
I hummed in agreement, inhaling the steam myself. We sat quietly for a long time, watching the sun rise over the heathered hills. He seemed to be relaxed enough, enjoying the silence in a companionable way, but I felt tense despite the soporific effects of the drink.   
"Modryn..." I paused, hesitant about what I wanted to say.  
"Hurm?"  
"Are we okay?"  
"Well, we are out of that pitiful excuse of a hideout-"  
"No. I mean, are we okay? You and me."  
He stilled beside me, waiting for me to carry on.  
"Because if we're not, then one of us has to go. We can't run the guild effectively if you don't trust me-"  
"That's what this is about?" he sounded surprised. "Why on Nirn would you think that?"  
I pulled my legs up, cuddling the cup. On the hillside, a deer bounded through the bushes, it's white tail flashing. "In the cave... I told you help was coming and you didn't believe me. You told me many times you were disappointed in how I'd handled the rescue, and you even said engineering our escape had fallen to you. You-" I swallowed against the pain in my chest. "I consider you to be a very dear friend. So. If you see me as a burden, I'd rather you told me now. If you don't think my leadership is effective, then I need to know so we can make arrangements for the Guild."

"Ah," he said, so quietly I almost didn't catch it. In my periphery, I saw him look down at his drink, silently thinking. The sky began to brim with light; pink, golden and duck-egg blue. Pipits and larks called in the morning air, as raptors rose on thermals. The breeze carried the sweetness of gorse down from the highlands, stirring the nutty steam from my mug as I drank. I was about to resign myself to never knowing – draining my mug, going inside to start my inevitable paperwork – when he spoke.

"I should not have spoken as I did," he said, the words coming out clipped and forced. Not through insincerity, I thought, but through a simple inability of self-expression. "I have no issue at all with your leadership. The new initiatives you've put in place have netted us not only new contracts and members, but esteem as well." He sighed. "I think I forget, sometimes, just how far you've come. You aren't that timorous whelp I met in the guild-house a year ago. It is not an excuse, but perhaps the situation caused me to revert to that way of thinking." He paused. I saw pain ghost through those scarlet eyes, before he cleared his throat and sat straighter, his spine ridged and muscles tensed. "You are still very young. And that vulnerability became more pronounced while- when- during what happened. I spoke harshly out of, hrmph, call it 'fatherly concern', if you will. 

"I should not have doubted you. You are a very capable person, as you have shown on many occasions. Including planning our escape. And I am... regretful of the upset I have inflicted on you. Please accept this apology. I believe that you and I are, as you said, 'okay'."  
I stared at him, stunned again by his words until he turned those scarlet eyes to me. He raised an eyebrow, inviting me to speak.  
"Great Julianos," I spluttered. "Does this mean I get to call you 'Dad'?"  
He glared, but it was lighthearted. "Absolutely not."  
I grinned. Yeah, we were going to be okay. I settled back against the rooftop again, as Modryn visibly relaxed as well, swooshing his cup to stir the dregs of his drink.  
"In the interests of transparency, I didn't engineer our rescue. Well, I planted the seeds maybe, but Azzan and Doyen Armand built it into something useful. So I'm not sure I should get the credit for that."  
"Hrm. But my point was that you did have contingencies in place. So take the compliment."  
"Yes, Dad."  
He let out an annoyed groan and I assumed he'd rolled his eyes. I smiled.  
"That being said," he continued, "do I want to know why the Doyen of the Thieves Guild felt compelled to assist us? Or any of those disreputable characters downstairs, for that matter."  
"Probably not," I told him, looking up into the clear sky, my eyelids feeling heavy again. "Why don't we just chalk it up to everyone wanting to help the Champion of Cyrodiil?"  
He hummed in a fashion that told me he wasn't keen on that answer, but wouldn't push any further. I closed my eyes, the morning sun warm and weighty on my face.  
"Master?"  
"Yes, Bearclaw?"  
"Thank you for coming for me."  
A dozen answers danced on the tip of my tongue: _Like I had a choice? Why wouldn't I? Loyalty above all else. You'd do the same._ I looked over at him and hoped all those sentiments could be read on my face. I nodded.  
"Always."

~ Fin ~


End file.
